Hell is other people
by Paru Cafe
Summary: •2S• In which gestures are harmful than words. Where are the thoughts? Luka/Miku .:Translation of the original French story by Sarabeka:.
1. Hell is other people

****title**** Hell is other people  
><strong>summary<strong> When gestures are much more harm than words. Where are the thoughts?**  
><strong>pairing<strong>** Luka/Miku**  
><strong>rating <strong>**T

**t/n **This is a translation from the French one-shot written by **Sarabeka**. She also wrote an hilarious story named "M'en fous ! J'suis une popstar !" (I don't care ! I'm a popstar !) and I highly recommend it to you guys. **IdrewAcow** was my beta reader in case of typos or grammar mistakes I tend to do :D

_Hell is other people_ is a famous citation by Jean Paul Sartre.

***Paru Café**

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><p><strong>Sarabeka's an : **_A small one-shot. It is not because I have moved to Belgium that I should despair ... It's sunny at the moment._

_This story is loosely drawn from real events and experiences. Things have, fortunately, not gone that far, but sometimes I wonder ''what if'…?' I know it is useless to dwell on the past but we can learn from it._  
><em>Enjoy. <em>

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><p>I don't own Vocaloid.<p>

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><p>This is it. A shithead did it. Yet Luka never believed in this. All these newspaper articles, the posts on the forums, the stories on television who spoke of people being mugged.<p>

She hadn't paid attention to that. And now, Miku was crying.

Luka wanted to reach out to the cheek of her beloved. Dry her tears that surely blurred her sight. Tell her that everything would be alright. But she couldn't do anything. She wasn't even sure she could feel her legs and arms.

There was a dull ache that came from everywhere and nowhere at once. Her whole body was a pulse of life that escaped painfully.

They were too many. Too many to for them to even hope that they could run away.

At first, Luka had thought that by simply ignoring them, they would leave themselves. She had felt Miku's hand tighten on hers', had seen her silent beg to leave the place as soon as possible.

She hadn't wanted to give satisfaction to the band of urban cubs who had taken her in hunting.

A gasp escaped her throat painfully. And her hand was still refusing to go pick Miku's tears from her face...

It was strange. This area was not yet classified as 'at risk'. The predator always falls over us when we least expect it.

No.

They do not even deserve the name of 'predator'. Predators don't kill for pleasure. They don't laugh when stabbing their prey. They don't let it lay in agony for several minutes, back against the cold bitumen and looking skyward.

They were monsters. Merely. The kind of monsters that children are afraid to find under their beds or in their closet at night. The kind of creature that Luka had learned not to fear, building on her twenty-one years of age and her rational mind.

But Miku had told her "It's not because you do not see them they are not there." Hidden in the dark, ready to strike with cowardly blows. By mockeries first, and then insults.

Miku had accelerated her pace that time, pulling Luka with her. Around them, no one had reacted. Nobody. And then when the band began to scream behind them, some had joined them, while some others difficultly took the defense of the couple. The rest went about their businesses. Sad flock jaded by surrounding violence.

Luka hadn't panicked; convinced they would do nothing in the middle of all these people.

Seeing that the mockery and provocation were not enough, the band had gone to the next level: the hunt.

They had heard the footsteps behind them. Luka had barely had time to push Miku on the side before she fell to be the final victim.

The killing.

No shots, no intimidations. Just some metal claws that had sprung from clenched fists and pockets of trousers. Luka don't know how long lasted the massacre - because that was what it was. _A massacre_.

She fell to the ground, unable to hold on her legs any longer, and from 'monsters' they became 'vultures'. What else but vultures or hyenas could strive this way on a destroyed body? It rained many blows. On her legs, on her belly, on her head. She felt that several bones had cracked.

She didn't feel anything now.

It was a lion. A large lion with a purple mane that had startled those vultures. They had gone, shouting and laughing, proud opposite to this broken body to the ground, fearful opposite the immense figure capable of defending itself. To defend them, her and Miku.

Miku had joined, threw herself on her knees beside her, screaming.

Luka heard her. Somewhere Miku was screaming her name. Somewhere Miku was crying. Somewhere, a bunch of urban young cubs were yelling the success of their hunt... Next to her, people started to react. Many accelerated the pace to get away. Others tightened around her.

Luka saw them, dimly, at the borders of her field of vision.

She saw blurry. A strange red filter seemed to be laid over her eyes.

The pain was such that she didn't even cry. Too sharp, too acute to be properly analyzed by the brain that ordered her to sink into unconsciousness in order to escape the sensation which pulsed in the pit of her ribs.

She couldn't, mustn't close her eyes for too long, of fear of not waking up.

Miku was still crying, her face streaming with tears. Luka found that it was strange that the water pouring down the cheeks of her girlfriend had not yet frozen. With that cold weather. She had memories of being in the autumn. But it was so cold.

She felt the blood in her veins slow.

The purple-mane lion had approached, a phone against his ear. He spoke. Luka couldn't hear. She heard nothing. Miku was sobbing silently now. He put the phone next to him and began to press Luka's shoulder. It hurt. It hurt horribly.

Miku was pale beside her. Too pale for Luka's taste.

So it was like this? She would die there, lying on the asphalt which froze her bones? Left to die so young she would rather be alone with Miku and she wished that it would be less violent.

And die for what? To the whim of a few shitheads who decided who could live and who should die.

Even if she had known that they had not chosen the easy way out by answering each other's feelings, Luka would never thought it would go to the savage slaughter in the middle of the street.

And yet...

They had no problems by announcing it to their parents or to their friends. There were a few tasteless jokes circulating about them, but they didn't care.

Apparently, happiness never lasted very long.

They were told it would be hard, there would be the looks, remarks, that implicit rejection often coming from the relatives. A real hell to live of course. But, they hadn't had anything like this to bear. Not from relatives in all cases.

As life left her body from a multitude of wounds, as the bitumen was colder and colder under her body, Luka had a thought before losing all lucidity. A phrase that came to her and that she had already heard before, previously thinking it was worthless. Thinking that everyone was master of his destiny and made his life what he wanted.

Before the little wit she had left turned to Miku, she thought that nothing was yet more true.

Hell is other people.


	2. Other's abnormality

**Paru Café's t/n:** _sorry, this isn't beta-ed! I really am in hurry. I think it's ok though; I wish it's ok. Forgive me and point out if there is some errors. Anyway, please drop a review on this or on the original story : s/7746040/1/L-enfer-c-est-les-autres_

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><p><strong>Sarabeka's an: **_Because I couldn't decently leave Luka die like that. And I saw no point in creating a new story to follow the first one-shot. Again, unpretentious. Chapter served by yours truly._

_Have a good read._

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><p>Miku put her long hair in a high ponytail. She hadn't the heart to tie her hair in these two quilts that were immensely long, one of her distinctive trademarks. In fact, she hadn't the heart to nothing much. Apart hope again and again.<p>

Once sure that the clip wouldn't loose again, she grabbed the bouquet of flowers that sat on the table far from the kitchen of the small apartment. The apartment where she lived alone now. Since three weeks.

She sighed, closing the door behind her. The key turned twice, sealing this little lonely haven, barely shared with Luka for a few months. The fish-shaped keychain clicked when she put the keyring in her handbag. It had belonged to Luka.

She descended the stairs in silence, a little lost in her thoughts. The building was badly soundproofed, she could hear the conversations in the other apartments. A couple was yelling for a hypothetical cheating, children were bickering for the TV program, a hi-fi spitting furious decibels... Certainly, she was the only one who remained silent in this building.

The neighbors weren't that worried to not hear her voice much since the accident.

That word made her snicker softly. How in earth what happened to Luka was it an accident? What had happened to them. An accident wasn't made on purpose, we kick ourselves afterwards.

But they were laughing so much.

How to believe them when they say they regret it? That they were sorry, that they didn't want that to happen, that they didn't know...

And how to tell them? Miku either didn't want, much less Luka. Sweet and proud Luka...

She could still see her, broken on the asphalt, while the purple haired man drove away their attackers. Luka's skin was red and white. Stark contrast with her blue eyes, whose became glassy as a result of pain.

She had been sidelined, they had said that it didn't concern her.

People could be stupid by ignorance.

She went down the street to the bus stop, waited a few minutes without paying attention to those who watched her with insistence, got into the vehicle and sat down at the bottom. Discretly.

You had to be discreet as possible. Luka had wanted to show herself to the world and the world had crushed her without scruple.

To live happy, live hidden.

If only to live.

She kept her eyes downcast. Though, what happened was unfortunate. Miku, who had always had a zest to life reckless and happily, dared not even lift her head in the street. Her silence passed unnoticed in the backstreets of the city. Fine. She didn't want to be seen. She didn't want to be noticed. She wanted to heal.

Even if it was Luka that was beaten, Miku was not left unscathed. Those who did nothing were just as guilty as the others. The faces of passersby, as she screamed for help; they were impassive, bored, perhaps seeking the hidden camera, laptops out to film the scene. The event was on TV the next day.

Miku had seen herself in tears near Luka's body. It seemed far away. Was it really her? The girl who cried until she broke her vocal cords? And the disarticulated puppet on the ground... Luka? The presenter had explained the situation in a toneless voice. It was far for him, too. He had other things to think about. A wife and children who were waiting at home safely. An intact small world. While Miku's had collapsed in the space of a few seconds.

The bus stopped off at the pedestrian street. And a new passenger suddenly attracted attention. Miku beckoned him to join the back of the bus.

Oliver joined her under the curious eyes of a handful of people around them. It was James, his bird, which attracted the gazes, and returned them, leaning its head as if to say: "What do they want?"

Miku liked James. It was the only bird that spoke more than her now. She liked Oliver, of course, but it wasn't the same. The young man gave her a light peck on the cheek, and sat down beside her, touching her hand for sign of encouragement and gave his attention to the curious people. Almost all heads immediately turned away, disturbed by this unique single eye.

The journey was made in silence. Each esteeming the other's silence. Only James launched a shrill whistle sometimes, without leaving his companion's shoulder. He came to perch himself on Miku's frail wrist; the tealette stroked the top of its head.

The first time she had seen the claws and the beak of the bird so close to her skin, she had been a little scared. First, of the claws ending its legs piercing her skin; secondly, to hurt the bird. Finally, they were as small and thin than the other, but just as strong. Misleading appearance.

They went down together, arms linked. Bouquet in hand and a bird on the shoulder. They had to walk a while before seeing the imposing building taking its shape in their field of vision. It was a square foundation as there were so many. A dull and gray facade, large windows in a vain attempt to illuminate the scene.

They entered the hall, accompanied by the squeaking of sliding doors. Oliver pushed Miku forward.

"James isn't allowed to be here," he said. "I'll join you later."

She nodded before heading striding the corridors just as bleak as the facade. Nurses greeted her and she answered them with a nod, still silent. Oliver would drop James close with a handful of seeds to made it await wisely. Sheltered from stray cats and humans beasts who would launch stones at the bird. By malice, or by boredom.

She crossed a bunch of corridors, finding herself in the maze of white. She felt the presence of the sick, wounded and dying patients, even behind closed doors or ajar. Wheelchairs abandoned in the middle of the corridor, pairs of crutches, blood bags on tables with casters... The atmosphere was always odd. No matter how many times she came.

The only time the mood had changed was when she met Oliver. She liked him. He never asked her questions, didn't seem to worry about it. She sometimes said to herself that even with one eye, he saw more clearly people than others. He had lost his eye in a stupid accident. A fight between friends he wanted to stop. A blow was shot and his eye couldn't be saved.

Miku had hard times to see him in a fight, he was way too nice for that.

They sympathized vaguely, both sitting in a waiting room. Him for his eye and her to see Luka.

And one day he came with James. He asked her to keep it while he passed examinations, and in the space of two seconds, Miku was left with a bird in her cupped hands. It had spoken to her. In fact, James didn't really talk. He whistled syllables. It was surprising at first, then eventually you get used to. You even answer. And it bowed its head to the side, perhaps curious to understand what you were saying.

It always amused Miku. She spoke again and again, to a bird who could care less about her life. Funny way to confide. But it soothed her. Once, Oliver had surprised her talking to his bird. He then learned about Luka and what had happened. Miku hadn't told him about that before. He could act like those who put Luka in this state. It was stupid to think that. Oliver was a sweet boy, sometimes a joker, but not bad. He asked if he could see her too. Miku had reluctantly agreed, suspicious. Oliver had left James sheltered by the hedge of a boxwood and they went to see Luka.

He didn't say anything, left standing contemplating the battered body of Luka and the mask that offered her vital oxygen.

Today, most of the physical marks had disappeared. But Luka hadn't yet awakened. What kept her alive was artificial pumping up and down in rhythm with a loud bellow.

Miku opened the door quietly, she was greeted by the breath of the pump. She said nothing, went directly to the metal bed, leaned over to kiss Luka's warm forehead. She advised the vase on the little bedside table, took it with both hands after placing her bouquet on the chair. She changed the flowers and water, creating the only perceptible movement in the small room.

Oliver arrived at this moment. He put his coat on the back of the chair and greeted Luka. It was like that now. Nobody had forgotten Luka, she was always there, but differently. Miku and she knew Oliver would spend a few hours here, along with Luka. Some of her friends thought it was creepy, others saw it as an indestructible romance. Miku wasn't thinking anything. It was bad luck and above all cautious. Nothing else. But she had not the courage to contradict anyone.

She really spoke only to James. And a little to Oliver. They exchanged a few words like two good friends. The silence wasn't embarrassed between them. They knew themselves because of pain. They were both unlucky and found the other completely by _accident_.

Two hours had passed and Miku passed a damp cloth on Luka's face when Oliver spoke.

"You know, I thought about your accident. And I learned a few days ago in French, that '_normal_' and '_abnormal_' is pronounced the same way."

Miku didn't even glance at him as she answered.

"French are crazy..."

"They are also known to be great romantics," continued the young man.

"Yet they're late on those kind of things."

"As well as Japan," he counter-attacked. "And it also seems that they are trying to make things change."

Miku's hands quivered for a second.

"Abnormality eh..."

"Or normality," Oliver replied..

She thought of those who had put Luka in this state. Of their apologies.

Who was wrong before the first shot was sent? All and none.

"I just wish she wakes up," Miku said, swiping a finger on the curve of Luka's face. "And that people leave us make our life."

Oliver watched them both, understanding.

"When she wakes up. I have no doubt of this."


End file.
